


The Umbrella Prompts

by SlippinMickeys



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Ficlet, MSR, RST, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-11-28 08:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlippinMickeys/pseuds/SlippinMickeys
Summary: This is in answer to Tumblr Prompt “kissing under a shared umbrella” and on it goes...





	1. This One’s Yours

The sound of the rain hitting the fabric drum of the umbrella above them made the space under it seem cloistered and insular. A small pocket of humid seclusion amongst the airport sounds of taxiing airplanes and safe-travel goodbyes.

The rain was hitting the sidewalk beneath them and jumping back up to splash her shoes, the lower half of her panty hose already a soaking mess. She stepped closer to him--as close as she could, propriety be damned. She wished she hadn’t worn a skirt.

The taxi line was at least ten people long, most of them standing with their shoulders bunched up miserably around their ears, unprepared for the weather. Mulder always kept a small compact umbrella tucked into his suitcase, so they were at least marginally more comfortable than their soaked compatriots.

Mulder wrapped his free hand lightly around her back when she stepped into him, and she got a whiff of his cologne. The air around them smelled of the urban tang of cold rain on hot pavement, a hint of petrichor underlying all. She closed her eyes and took it in.

She felt his thumb start to absently stroke her back, a slow rhythm of comfort. She looked up to give him a small smile and found his face closer than she expected, his head hunched down under the umbrella to better cover her. His breath fanned her face, his eyes lazy and smiling.

She’d worn her highest heels, so it was only a matter of inches between her lips and his. Before she could put together a coherent thought, their lips were pressed together, a feathery light brush just this side of a friendly buss. If she’d chosen to, she could have pulled back and chalked it up to such, headed into work the next day with nary an awkward look. If she’d chosen to.

Instead she lifted up ever so slightly onto her toes and pushed into the supple pillows of her partners lips, earning her a surprised inhale. Almost instantly the hand on her back was pressing insistently, pulling her closer.

One kiss, two, three, each with a little more pressure, held a little longer. Then, in a rush, the rain came down harder, slashing through the atmosphere, charging the air. She felt the tip of his tongue and met it with her own, the moment taking on a sudden intensity.

She felt the rip of lust, felt her heart start pounding, could feel the answering echo of Mulder’s own. His breath hitched as the kiss deepened and she smiled into his mouth, feeling wanted, powerful.

She was curling her fingers through Mulder’s lapel when she heard a discreet clearing of a throat from behind her, and she pulled back, Mulder leaning down as she moved, his face chasing hers as if magnetized.

The taxi line had moved on without them, the businessman behind them smiling a knowing grin while they noticed their surroundings and shuffled forward.

She was pleased but embarrassed, and stood, eyes facing forward, leaning back into him companionably. Finally they were at the front of the line, and as a cab pulled up, tires squelching in front of the wet curb, Mulder leaned down and whispered into her ear “this one’s yours.”

He held the umbrella over her as she unfolded herself into the back of the cab, and as the door closed, she caught his eye through the streaked window, caught his cat-like look, his small satisfied smirk. He held her gaze as the sedan pulled away, as she smiled her way home.


	2. A Sorta Fairytale

He hopped into the next cab, shaking water from his coat onto the worn vinyl of the taxi’s backseat. The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke warring with tropical car deodorizer, chasing the smell of her from his nose. He started breathing through his mouth, holding onto the last thing he had left of her kiss.

He was still in a state of stunned disbelief and it took two rounds of the cabbie asking “where to, sir?” to snap him out of his reverie.

“Uh,” he started, fully intending to give his address in Alexandria, when “Georgetown, please,” crossed his lips instead.

He leaned toward the middle of the car as it pulled away from the curb, and thought he could see the taillights of the taxi that had whisked Scully away merging onto the Parkway ahead of them. The windshield wipers scraped steadily along and he curled his fingers into a fist, remembering her touch.

He rattled off her address to the driver and thunked his head back against the seat, lovestruck.

Scully had kissed him. Scully had stuck her tongue down his throat and grabbed him by the lapels. She’d wedged her obnoxious shoe in between his feet and given him a good, hard sniff.

And he’d done nothing but act like a surprised adolescent, returning her kiss without the promise of another and mooning after her and letting her drive away.

He had long thought she was otherworldly. Harbored a suspicion that if you photographed her in black and white, she would still show up in color. Scully was a muse, a nymph, she was blue eyes and orange hair in a tintype world. She was like the toad in a fairytale; when you kissed her, you needed to stick around to see what happened next. 

XxXxXxXxXxX 

When she answered the door, she had clearly just walked in and had only gotten so far as taking off her shoes. She was shorter now, diminutive standing next to his hulking damp frame, her cheeks ruddy, her hair misty and curling in on itself.

She took a step back and he entered without a word, closing the door behind him.

“Mulder,” she said, and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. She tipped her head back to look at him, the elegant ivory column of her neck begging for his touch. He reached out and drew a finger delicately down it, gooseflesh breaking out in its wake--she closed her eyes and drew a breath in.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and she slowly opened her eyes and looked at him. “At the airport, that was… I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

She tilted her head to the side, regarding him mildly.

“What should you have done?” she asked.

He reached out and clasped her firmly by the waist, pulling her slowly to him until their hips bumped. She moved to him without protest, her movements languid and unhurried. Seductive. She reached both arms up and over his shoulders, her fingers curling into the short hairs on his neck, all of which were now standing on end.

“This,” he whispered, leaning towards her.

He had to bend down pretty far just to reach her, but when his lips met hers again, it was electric. A frission of energy pulsed from his core and he vaguely thought that the top of his skull might lift off and float away.

She kissed him back thoroughly then leaned back to look at him, her eyes hooded with desire. She was breathing through her mouth.

“I’m glad you came,” she said, giving voice to the lone thought spiraling through his brain. “I need to get out of these clothes,” she went on, backing away from him slowly.

A million responses, all various takes on the theme “I could help with that” all came to him at the same time, bottlenecking in his throat and rendering him speechless.

She hitched her skirt up a bit, right there in the middle of her living room and reached her hand up underneath it. Mulder felt his jaw drop and his brain practically short-circuited. It wasn’t until about a second later, when she started to slowly unroll one leg of her panty hose down her thigh and off her leg that Mulder realized what she was and was not doing. She casually tossed the thigh-high over the arm of the couch and reached up to pull down the other.

“_ Fuck _, Scully,” he said harshly, wondering just how much a man could take.

“That’s the general idea,” she said, walking backwards towards her bedroom.

“If this is a dream,” he said, floating along behind her, “I want to go on having it forever.”

The rain was still pinging steadily at her windows and blood was roaring in his ears. Her stockings were draped over her ticking stripe couch, mud-splattered and damp, the heel stained dark from her shoes. The lamp in her bedroom flicked off as the grey evening faded into night, and her mantle clock chimed and ticked on and on. The rasp of his jaw scraped creamy white skin and he dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. 


	3. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wiper blades shuddered across the windshield as he flew toward Alexandria, Charon upon the river, he carried her home. 

It was a crime scene in the middle of the woods—his least favorite kind. It had taken twenty minutes of walking in loafers through mulch and detritus to get there, his shoes probably ruined. 

Skinner had sent them, but the casefile—which he’d read on the drive over—reeked of the mundane. 

He closed his eyes and willed himself away. 

He let himself float off—the soft patter of the rain on the top of the umbrella he was holding bringing him back to the damp air outside of Reagan National, the smell of jet fuel in his nose and the taste of Scully on his lips.

His mind fast-forwarded, replayed the sound of her gasping not an hour later_ —he could see her moving above him in the light of the moon. It tilted through the blinds in her bedroom, slats of blue glowing dully on her skin, her head thrown back, mouth wide open. _

“There’s no X-File here,” he said, though he’d barely looked at the body in front of them.

Her eyes narrowed and she regarded him cooly.

“I’d like to give the victim a brief examination, if I may?”

She lowered herself into a squat, her precise suit juxtaposed starkly against the chaos of the forest floor; mottled leaves, moss, a slash of blood drying on the O horizon before them. 

_ Her breasts bounced with each slow thrust. She brought a hand to his mouth, stuck several fingers in and he laved them with his tongue until she removed them slowly, a string of saliva following her hand until it snapped, falling wet and cool onto his chin. _

There had been a tent set up over the crime scene to preserve what evidence they could from the rain, and Mulder stood outside of it, giving Scully her space. 

Their victim, a man in his early twenties, was lying with his leg bent at an odd angle, his wide mouth filled to overflowing with salt. There was the hint of the occult here, tucked low to the damp ground, but something brushed at his mind, nevertheless. 

This was an ordinary murder.

“Deputy?” she called, and the lead of the boys in brown stepped forward. She moved a panel of the victim’s coat aside and pointed something out. The deputy waved the crime scene boys over in their Tyvek suits and they started pointing around, preparing to set up a grid. 

_ Her breath against his neck, his name uttered into his ear on a pant. Her back, slick under his hands, her knees squeezing his hips _ . _ Their pull was tidal; he was drawn to her like the sea to the moon, worshipful, wet, and always, always. An attraction without fail. _

She snapped off the latex and walked out from under the tent. He held the umbrella out and she ducked under it. 

“Well?” he said, and they started making their way slowly back toward the car. 

“Gunshot wound,” she said, “low caliber, no exit.”

“The victim had a record a mile long,” he said, “my guess is he got involved with the wrong people.” 

“What about the salt in his mouth?” Scully asked. 

“Isn’t that my line?”

Scully quirked up the side of her mouth and her breath turned to vapor in front of him. The temperature was dropping.

His gloved hand gripped the curved handle of the umbrella tighter. 

_ His hands roved her body, touching everything with a reverential caress. She was perfect, her skin as smooth as a flower petal. He reached a thumb down and brushed it over where they were joined. Her muscles convulsed around him and lights popped behind his eyes. _

“Coarse kosher,” he said, “we’ll have the lab take a look, my guess is it’s probably from one of the restaurant kitchens run by the Russian mob. I think our friend Sergei back there probably ran his mouth a little too much. The salt is just a message, not related to the occult.”

They got to the car and stopped in front of it. She’d driven and had the keys in her pocket--they’d left it locked. She stepped closer to him under the umbrella, tipping her head back to catch his eye. 

“Mob hit?” she asked. 

“That’s my guess.”

She darted out a tongue to lick her lips. 

_ The warm tang of her filled his mouth and the sound she made when his tongue darted out to tease her made his whole body thrum _ . _ Her autumn hair was fanned out on the pillow; she looked like Gaea, tasted of the sea. _

She reached in her pocket and pulled out the keys, handing them to him. 

“You get to drive back,” she said, and he opened her door for her, held the umbrella over her until she was in and settled. 

He trotted around the car and slipped into the driver’s seat, tossing the umbrella into the back seat in a wet clatter. He put the key in the ignition and turned to her before he turned the car on. 

“My place or yours?” he said, playing it off as a joke, letting her do with it what she would. 

She contemplated him a moment, her arm resting against the window, her head leaning against her hand. The rain continued to drizzle, beading on the window behind her, clinging and wet. 

“Your place,” she said, her voice low. 

_ He was sunk into her and felt like he was miles deep, he wanted to stay there, never come up for air. She was all the oxygen he’d ever need. _

_ She was his Gnosis, his own best thought. _

The wiper blades shuddered across the windshield as he flew toward Alexandria, Charon upon the river, he carried her home. 


	4. Pleated

Rain gently tapped on the glass of the thin line of windows above their basement office, cocooning the two agents in its stormy embrace.

He had been distracted by her since she came in that morning, dripping rain water from her trench coat. Mulder had really only started to notice her wardrobe in the last month or so, when they’d started sleeping together--usually studying her clothes with the sole objective of estimating how long it would take him to get her out of them. She was wearing a skirt this morning, but had eschewed her usual pencil skirt for one more flowy and voluminous, its pleats gently accordioning out around her legs as she walked. 

They’d been in the office for two hours and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. 

Finally, from where she stood, leaning against the drafting table across from his desk, she said, “Mulder, you’re staring.”

He blinked, and raised his eyes to hers, slowly taking her in as he did so. 

“You look fantastic, today, Scully,” he said, and she smiled at him, amused. He darted his tongue out to wet his lips and he caught her watching him do so. 

She sighed, and set down the file she’d been studying, turning to face him, leaning against the drafting table.

“It’s long past time we set some ground rules, Mulder,” she said. 

“Oh?” he replied, shifting in his chair, “about what?”

“Sex,” she said, matter-of-factly, and crossed her arms. 

At the word ‘sex,’ his own started coming to attention in his lap. 

“I’d be more than happy to talk about sex with you, Scully,” he said, reaching up to loosen his tie. His eyes fell to her chest and stayed there. She sighed again. 

“I know that look, Mulder,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. 

He stood, and made his way over to her, standing in front of her close, so that she had to tilt her head back to look at his eyes. 

“What look?” he said, his voice low. 

“We cannot have sex in the office,” she said, trying to maintain a tone of reasonable authority, but he could see a flush of red creep up her neck, and her pupils dilated a bit more in the dim light. 

He reached out and placed his hands on her hips, resting his fingers gently on the waist of her skirt. 

“Why Agent Scully,” he said, “what a thing to suggest.”

He started to rub his thumbs over the points of her hip bones and her eyelids fluttered closed, once. Encouraged, he grabbed the material of her skirt between his thumbs and forefingers and gently ran them down the length of the garment, pulling it up and out to either side, like a woman about to curtsy. 

“This is a nice skirt, Scully,” he said, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. 

He knew he was getting to her by the sole fact that she had yet to swat his hands away. Instead, she gripped the drafting table behind her. 

“Mulder, I am telling you, you have got to keep it in your pants in the office.”

She was practically panting now, and his dick was pressing insistently at the front of the article of clothing she had just mentioned, clearly determined to violate whatever statutes she put forth. 

“Okay,” he said, and she inhaled deeply, raking her eyes up to meet his, “I can abide by that rule.”

“You can?” she asked, her voice surprised--she had obviously expected some resistance. 

“Happily,” he said, still holding her skirt, and then he eased his way down onto his knees in front of her. 

“Mul-” she started to say, when he flipped the skirt up and over his head, and he pressed a hard kiss to the front of her panties, efficiently cutting her off. 

It was like being under an umbrella, he thought, and smiled. 

He reached his fingers into the top of her panties and slid them down her legs, and whatever protests she’d had planned had died on her lips in the middle of his name. She lifted each foot and he slipped them down and off her left leg and then down and off her right. She was still wearing heels and he thought he might combust. 

Before she settled her right leg back onto the floor, he grabbed her by the back of the knee and brought her leg up and over his shoulder, pulling her sex right to his waiting mouth. 

He used his thumbs to gently part her folds and then darted out a tongue to taste her. She groaned softly, barely audible above the gentle patter of rain on their skylight and the soft ambient buzz of their computers.

It was humid under her skirt, permeated with the heady scent of her. He ran his tongue along her seam and she groaned. 

He smiled into her, determined to make her retract any ‘rules’ about where and when they could make love. They’d wasted too much time already. 

He pulled his thumbs slightly more apart until the tight bud of her sex was starkly apparent and then ran his tongue in slow licks over it until he felt her flex the muscles of the leg resting over his shoulder, pulling him even closer to her body. 

He could hear her breathing speed up, felt her muscles start to tense.

“Is this what we’re not supposed to do, Scully?” he mumbled into her.

“Yes,” she hissed, even while her hips opposed her, grinding into his face. 

He let go of her with his right hand and inched a finger slowly up inside of her. She groaned and he added another, started to pump them slowly in time with his tongue. She was as slick as cream and tasted twice as good. He gradually increased the speed of his ministrations and he could feel her start to bear down slightly. 

“God, Mul-“ she panted, and then she was there, coming hard against his mouth, he could hear her nails scrape the edge of the drafting table as she clutched at it. 

He slowed down his motions, but didn’t pull back, until finally she twisted her hips away from him slightly, indicating it was a bit too much. 

Under the dark fabric of her skirt he pulled his head back slightly and then pressed a gentle kiss to the skin just above the spongy curls of her sex. The leg still over his shoulder slumped and fell heavily to the floor, and he finally leaned back, letting the tent of her pleated skirt fall back into place. 

He rose to stand from his knees and one popped loudly in the quiet room, earning a small huff of a laugh from Scully, who was just cracking her eyes open to look at him.

He licked his lips, savoring the flavor of her and then shot her self-satisfied smile. 

“You were saying?” he said. 

She licked her lips in a mirror of his own movement, and then reached forward, running two fingers gently along the tented fabric of his slacks. 

“Give me a minute,” she said, a devilish smile slowly raising her lips, “and maybe I’ll remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to admiralty for the beta!


End file.
